


Streets of Fire

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Italy gives Greece an ultimatum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Streets of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ December 26, 2009. 
> 
> This fic deals with sensitive subjects, and is not meant to offend or insult anyone who may read it. The opinions in this piece are those of the characters and not necessarily reflect those of the author.

**7 April, 1939**  
  
“War,” his boss sighed and Greece looked up at him, from where he was sitting on the grassy hill, overlooking a small village. Cats mewled at his feet and the wind whipped through his jacket, threatening to push it back off his shoulders.   
  
  
**15 October, 1940**  
  
“So it’s decided, then,” the man said, handing the letter over to his country. “We can’t allow Germany to be the only powerful one, we need to assert our own power from now on.”  
  
“I don’t know…” Italy admitted, and only cringed a bit when his boss narrowed his eyes.   
  
“Chin up,” his boss ordered and Italy jerked his chin upwards, straightening. “We have the opportunity to prove to the world how strong we are, and I don’t expect you to run away this time.”   
  
“But…”  
  
“It will take no more than twelve days, I’d say,” his boss said, voice smug as he spoke. “I don’t like that Germany has been outplaying us. It’s time to show that Italy, too, can be a force to contend against. I have chosen an easy target; there is no way we can fail.”   
  
“But Germany’s strong,” Italy protested and didn’t dare say that he was weak, because he knew his boss wouldn’t like that. He fiddled with the sheet of paper his boss had handed to him, hands shaking and knees quaking. “Couldn’t we just…”  
  
“Italy,” his boss said, standing and approaching him, laying his hands on Italy’s shoulders. “My dear country… we cannot fail. You have a right to be confident, to be strong. No one can stop us. We are surging across Europe and we will succeed. France has fallen and Britain will soon follow. Already Germany makes plans to take the Soviet Union. It’s too late for those who stand against us. We are unstoppable.”   
  
Italy stared up at him, blinking once in astonishment.   
  
“Let us show the world how powerful the Kingdom of Italy can be, without having to hold Germany’s hand.”   
  
Italy closed his eyes, pictured Germany and all he’d taught him these last few months. He released a sigh, feeling a tug on his heart, and nodded. Nodded once, twice, three times. He opened his eyes, looking up at his boss. He knew he had to do this, but that didn’t stop him from feeling uneasy over it, despite the small stirrings of hope in his heart. It was for the good of his country, and for proving his strength and his worth.   
  
He could picture Germany’s face when he told him of his successes, could just picture the look of surprise on his face and, what Italy hoped would follow, a look of pride. He shifted, fidgeted with his hands and realizing for the first time that he really, really wanted to make him proud. He wanted to make him proud. He wanted to make his country proud. They could do this.  
  
He nodded again, more vigorously. “We can do it.”   
  
  
\---  
  
  
“Shit,” England cursed, slamming his fist on the table. “These bastards are just unstoppable. How the hell are we supposed to fight against them?”   
  
He was bruised, bloody, from the constant onslaughts of Germany’s bombs. He wiped at his forehead and didn’t even blink at the blood staining across his hand. France was in worse condition, frowning at the floor and looking ragged and tired, stretched thin as Germany and Italy stomped upon the land stolen from him.   
  
“America has begun a draft,” Canada offered.   
  
“If he intends to enter the war he should say so,” England muttered angrily, staring off into the middle distance and not really looking at anything, just thinking. He shook his head. “That stupid idiot, he…”  
  
He seemed to think better of cursing out the country on the other side of the Atlantic and instead shook his head again, cursing to himself under his breath as his fingers fumbled to sort out the papers spread between himself and the other nations. “We’ve been throwing everything we have at them and still nothing,” he exclaimed, either to himself or his allies was unknown, “Is there nothing that can stop them?”   
  
“Relax,” France commanded in English, narrowing his eyes and lifting his gaze from the floor to meet England’s eyes. “Do not admit defeat yet.”  
  
“I never admit defeat,” he shouted back and would have throttled France if either of them hadn’t looked like they’d already been throttled strenuously by Germany. He cursed again. “Shit.”   
  
  
\---  
  
  
 **28 October, 1940**  
  
It’d been quite a surprise to open the door to his villa and discover his neighbor on the other side. He blinked at him, then tilted his head backwards, glancing up at the sky before propping his cross, Mt. Athos, over one shoulder, looking over at Italy with a critical eye.   
  
“Yes?” he asked, voice calm.   
  
Italy shuffled his feet and fiddled with the letter in his hands, nearly wringing it to pieces. He stood up straight, ignoring his shaking legs—his boss had reassured him that there was no reason to be fearful, that he should have utter confidence during these events. He pushed over the letter, steadying his hands and looking over at Greece with as much pride as he could muster. This was just Greece. His boss told him it would be easy, no more than two weeks. All he had to do was deliver the ultimatum.   
  
“Yes?” Greece repeated as they both continued to stand in front of one another, unmoving. He was tall, confidently lazy, standing with one hip jutting upwards a bit, his skin warm and tanned from centuries in the sun, his eyes half-hooded and thoughtful.   
  
Italy’s heart was beating quickly. “Uh…”   
  
Greece took a step forward and Italy seized up, shoulders stiffening and the swallowing the bubble of fear gurgling in his chest. No, he told himself, swallowing once again. No, it would be fine. He _had_ to do this, to show Germany that he could hold his own and be just as strong if the need arose.   
  
“I… have an ultimatum for you,” Italy finally managed, standing up a bit straighter. He would believe his boss’ words. With Germany as an ally, and his own determination, he was stronger than plenty of the countries in Europe.   
  
Yeah, he told himself, there was no way he could lose against Greece.   
  
“Say it, then,” Greece urged, still looking rather calm and unperturbed by this proclamation. He leaned against Mt. Athos lazily, watching him with half-hooded, sleepy eyes.   
  
“Right!” Italy said and unrolled the letter completely, smoothing it out with one hand against his leg and lifting it up so he could read it. “You will allow the Italians to invade and occupy Greece, or you will face our wrath.”   
  
He outlined more points, and almost read them without comprehension, but with each word he swelled with pride for his country. He would show the world the strength he knew he possessed, underneath his tired reflex of flight over fight. He would show Germany that he was a powerful and valuable ally.   
  
After he stopped speaking, he was met with silence. Greece watched him, peering at him before taking another step forward. Italy didn’t swallow or quake this time, and remained strong and confident. There was no way that Greece would turn down this proclamation. He was not strong enough.   
  
He stopped in front of Italy, looking down at the other nation and calculating his words. Italy watched the swirl of his olive colored eyes, knew that he was judging and weighing his words with utmost care.   
  
Greece seemed to reach his decision fairly quickly and Italy nearly danced with expectation, wiggling in his boots and staring up at his almost-conquered enemy. He stared, waiting, one hand straying to the gun at his side and knowing he wouldn’t have to use it. His hand curled around the soft paper of the ultimatum victoriously.   
  
“No.”  
  
In a split second the world collapsed in on itself. The single word echoed against the walls of Greece’s house behind them and across the narrow corridors and passages of the city. Suddenly, it was too silent and too distant. Suddenly, everything was different.   
  
“What?” Italy managed to ask, nearly choking on the air in his lungs.   
  
“No,” Greece repeated, calmly as ever.   
  
Out of the responses, that hadn’t been the one Italy had expected. He stared in shock, turning this word over and over in his head to try and work out this unprecedented response. No, no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go over at all. He frowned, deeply, looking stricken for half a moment.   
  
“Then… you will face our wrath!” Italy insisted.   
  
Greece nodded, once, and did not seem at all disturbed by this promise. “ _Alors, c’est la guerre,_ ” he said plainly, in French. So it is war.   
  
Italy worked his mouth but no words were coming out. He bit his lip and his hands curled into fists. He stood up straighter, trying to close the height difference between himself and Greece as much as possible. The hand holding Greece’s cross was braced and the knuckles white. They stared at one another until Italy crumbled up the ultimatum and threw it to Greece’s feet—this was not how it was supposed to go!   
  
“You will regret this! Athens will fall! Greece will be ours!”   
  
Greece watched him for a very long moment, regarding him with inquisitive, olive-colored eyes. They stood in silence, Italy’s declaration hanging in the air, palpable.   
  
Then the customary expression Greece often wore, calm, lethargic, and good-natured, rippled away into an open look of defiance, and thinly concealed rage.  
  
“I’d like to see you try.”   
  
And then he smashed his cross into the side of Italy’s head.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
It crackled over the radio.   
  
_"Since 0630 this morning, the enemy is attacking our vanguard on the Greek-Albanian border. Our forces are defending the fatherland."_  
  
They were storming his country within hours. Greece watched the approach, back rigid and his face contorted in anger. He closed his eyes, feeling the wind kiss his cheeks. His hands were clenched at his sides and the wind whipped back his hair and his jacket tails, pushing against him as if urging him backwards.   
  
It was cold.   
  
“So it is war,” he repeated, this time in Greek, and the words tasted bitter. He opened his eyes again and Italy was closer, preparing to unleash the ‘wrath’ of the kingdom. They were coming from Albania.   
  
He sighed.  
  
“Needless bloodshed. I had hoped to avoid this war,” Greece said quietly.   
  
He closed his eyes and heard the words of his boss echoing in his head, hearing it ring against the drum of his ears, panging in his heart and settling in his chest. He knew it was time, knew that he could not avoid it anymore, as much as he would have liked to walk a different path.  
  
 _I cannot look behind, but simply walk the path that has been chosen,_ he thought decisively.   
  
His boss addressed his people, called to them and they responded. He knew they would respond, because he was one of them and they were of him. He felt their hearts beating in time with his own heart, heard their dreams and their wishes pulsing in time with his breathing. He lived for them, and they lived for him. They were so intricately wrapped, that it was often times that Greece wanted to think that there was no one who could possibly understand—though he knew, he knew that the other nations must feel this way, as well.   
  
_“The time has come for Greece to fight for her independence. Greeks, now we must prove ourselves worthy of our forefathers and the freedom they bestowed upon us. Greeks, now fight for your Fatherland, for your wives, for your children and the sacred traditions. Now, over all things, fight!”_  
  
He heard those words, watched him speak them. He watched as his people heard those words, let them settle and explode like bombs in their hearts. They stormed the streets, singing songs to praise him (or ‘her’, he reminded, and thought of his mother.) Patriotic songs that filled his ears and remained in his head even hours after the singing had fallen silent, given way to men and women both storming the army recruitment offices, enlisting and putting their lives on the line in order to defend their loved ones, to defend him.   
  
The whole nation united behind him in the face of this aggression, and he felt their support pulsing through his veins and making him stronger.   
  
He stepped forward, moving towards the fray.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Greece spat out blood, ignored the stream dripping down the side of his face, blurring into one of his eyes until he blinked it away. His body ached and his head nearly split in two at the force of a pounding headache, but he did not stop.   
  
“They don’t know anything about this region,” the solider beside him whispered, face contorted in rage and in pain. “They’ll pay for what they’re doing. There are few roads and this region is too mountainous, we have the advantage.”   
  
“They do not understand what they’re dealing with,” another solider to Greece’s left hissed. “We’ll never bend to their will.”  
  
Greece closed his eyes. “No. We will fight.”   
  
“They’re pushing back against our screen.”  
  
“We will not let Greece fall.”   
  
“Greece will not fall,” the namesake promised, his true identity unknown among his men. He was already weary from fighting, but it was unavoidable now. The clouds above them threatened rain—perhaps snow—but they would not stop.   
  
“Heracles, you’re bleeding,” one of the soldiers said, pointing to the cut on his head, beneath his hairline. They used his human name here, unaware of who it was, exactly, with whom they were faced. If asked why they felt so protective of this man, why these soldiers wanted to stay beside him and guard him, to fight with him and make him proud—no one would have been able to give an adequate answer. The man who had spoken offered Greece a rag to wipe his face. He patted Greece’s shoulder. “Hang in there. We’ll make it through.”   
  
Greece dabbed at his forehead, unfazed by the thick stains of blood blooming over the grubby white linen. “I know we will.” Despite their situation, he couldn’t help but give these men, his children, a small smile. “I believe in you all.”  
  
If anyone had asked those men why such a statement made them swell with such pride, they would not have been able to summon an answer. It was just as well.   
  
Gunshots rang through the cold night, shattering any semblance of peace in his home. Bullets and shells littered the ground, scrap and debris kicked by Grecian boots as they dove forward to meet their enemies head on.   
  
He could feel their will saturating the air, knew for what reason they fought—to protect and defend him—and he was there with them, driving back the Italian army back towards Albania, fighting until the blood and the sweat burned into his eyes and blinded him. He did not stop, even as he was fought against and shot at. He did not stop screaming, did not stop moving to save those who fought so hard and died to save him.   
  
He would not fall.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
 **2 November, 1940**  
  
“You _what_?” Germany shouted.   
  
Italy bit his lip, bruised and bandaged and looking as if he wanted to cry and was doing his best not to.   
  
“I… invaded Greece,” Italy repeated.   
  
Germany rubbed his temples. “You— Why?”   
  
Italy hesitated, unsure if he should dissuade his boss’ reasoning—to show Germany Italy’s strength—or to just leave it as a mystery. But it was very hard to lie to Germany, but it was also much easier to be scared of Germany when he was angry and looked as if he were about to pop a blood vessel. He touched Germany’s shoulder, hand shaking. Italy wondered where that bubble of confidence he’d had days ago had disappeared to.   
  
Oh, that’s right. Greece had popped that bubble quickly—but there was still time. It’d only been three days, after all. Greece and his Hellenic army couldn’t hold out forever.   
  
“We’re bombing Salonika,” Italy offered, looking up at Germany expectantly. He whined, “Germaaaaany. We’re advancing really well, they’re really no match.”  
  
“And what of Greece?” Germany asked, still sounding rather agitated but the venom seeping out of his voice as Italy hung onto his arm.   
  
“He’s resisting, but we’re advancing,” Italy insisted, dismissing. It was only a matter of time before they fell, either way. The resistance and refusal of the ultimatum had been unexpected, but they were prepared to force Greece into submission.   
  
“Just great,” Germany muttered into his hand, slapped against his face. “The last thing I need is for us to be bogged down in some backwater country.” He dropped his hand and patted the top of Italy’s head absently, ignoring the way Italy’s grip on his arm tightened.   
  
“My boss says we’ll be in Athens within a week,” Italy said cheerfully, teeming with pride as he smiled up at Germany, waiting and hoping for Germany’s approval.   
  
Germany sighed, hand still absently sitting on the top of Italy’s head.   
  
“Shouldn’t you be there fighting right now?” Germany muttered.  
  
Italy frowned. “I wanted to see you.”   
  
“Urk,” Germany said intelligently.   
  
“But I’ll go back,” Italy said after a long pause and didn’t quite sound like he wanted to go back. There was fighting going on there, after all. But he had to make his boss proud, and do his country good. And he wanted to show Germany that he was a valuable ally. “This… this is my fight, after all. But it’d be great if Germany wanted to help me, too!”   
  
“Your boss wouldn’t like that,” Germany muttered.   
  
Italy made a small, soft noise, something akin to agreement but was more avoidant than anything else. He sighed softly, straightening against Germany, resting his head against his shoulder. Germany pretended that he wasn’t blushing.   
  
“Besides,” Germany said, after clearing his throat and trying to shrug Italy off him as discreetly as possible (Italy didn’t notice.) “I have to deal with an invasion of that damn Soviet Union. I can’t be distracted by Greece of all things. If he’s as weak as you say he is, even you shouldn’t have any trouble.”  
  
“Yes, yes,” Italy agreed cheerfully.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
 **4 November 1940**  
  
“Greece has launched a counter-attack!” England declared as he threw the door open to the meeting room. France looked up from where he was slumped in his chair, looking rather haggard, his hair limp around his face.   
  
“Against the Italians?”  
  
“On the Albanian border, yes,” England said and had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes—who else would Greece be fighting, anyway?—and slammed the telegram on the table for France to read over.   
  
When he did, he looked up and the two locked eyes.   
  
“What now?”  
  
“I’m sending troops to help him,” England said. He gripped the table, beaten and haunted by the real threat of an invasion on his own soil, but knowing what he had to do. “He’s resisting beautifully but it’s only a matter of time before…”  
  
He trailed off, because he knew that France knew what would happen, should the resistance fail.   
  
“Those…” France trialed off with a sigh. “They’re powerful. Almost unstoppable.”   
  
“Almost,” England said and there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes that had been severely lacking the long months they’d been fighting. He slammed his fist heartily against the table, leaning forward towards France. “But only almost.”  
  
France watched him, and a small smile crept over his face. He rolled one shoulder, clucking a bit and smile widening when England retreated half a step, looking skeptically at his ally.   
  
“I’ve forgotten what it was like to see you so excited,” he teased.  
  
“Oh, shut your mouth, you damn bastard.”   
  
  
\---  
  
  
“You’re not supposed to do this!” Italy cried as Greece slammed the butt of his cross into his stomach, sending him backwards, stumbling over loose rocks that littered the mountain road they fought on.   
  
“Do what?” Greece asked, advancing on him.  
  
“You were supposed to just let us have you and be done with it!” Italy cried out, dodging another jab from Mt. Athos, biting back his anger and his fear. “You weren’t supposed to fight back!”  
  
“Well,” Greece said, thoughtfully, musing over these words. What he said next did nothing to soothe Italy’s jumbled nerves. “I am now, so you’ll have to rethink your strategy.”   
  
“I’ll get more of Albania’s people, we’ll fight you back and you’ll lose! You’ll feel Italy’s wrath!”   
  
“Look around you,” Greece urged. “It’s clear that Albania does not wish to be part of this fight. Stop using him and fight your own battles.” He sent a kick towards Italy’s side, who promptly dodged again. “His people are deserting your armies. That should be clear enough.”   
  
“You’re supposed to fall to us, you’re not supposed to be this strong!” Italy insisted. “My boss—he said—”  
  
Greece kicked again, pivoting off his cross and slamming his heavy boot into Italy’s hand as he reached for the pistol at his side.   
  
“I am stronger than you think. The will of my people will not let me fall,” Greece said, sounding rather calm despite the unhinged rage swirling in his eyes. “And I will never bend to the likes of _you._ ”  
  
“Greece—!” Italy cried out, falling to the ground and trying to scramble back as Greece continued to advance, Italy’s gun in his hand and pointed down quite leisurely towards the other nation’s heart.   
  
“You are not welcome in my land,” Greece whispered, thumbing the hammer. “And you never will be.”   
  
“Don’t…” Italy began, and froze when he saw Greece’s finger curl around the trigger. He didn’t like the look in Greece’s eyes—he was not yet accustomed to seeing this rage, seeing such anger and raw emotion, after years of seeing a lazy, carefree man sleeping peacefully under trees.   
  
Now he towered over Italy, the cross on his back casting a long shadow. He stared up at Greece, stared fearfully from the other end of the barrel, watching the words flash in front of his eyes, the things he was meant to say but couldn’t.   
  
“You promised me the wrath of Italy,” Greece said, and narrowed his eyes as he threw the gun, watched as it smashed against a rock. He didn’t take his eyes off Italy. “But now I promise you the wrath of Greece. You will regret this.”   
  
Italy couldn’t summon words as Greece walked past him, ignoring him, in pursuit of his soldiers. He stared up at the sky, watched as the clouds gathered and threatened rain. His heart thundered in his chest, unshed tears threatening the corner of his eyes. His hands curled and he gasped for air, feeling that cold creep of death slowly slink away for another day.   
  
“G-Greece!” Italy cried, looking over his shoulder and seeing the nation running towards the fighting beyond them, body tense and moving swiftly. His heart pounded in his chest.   
  
He would never admit it, especially not to Greece, not to his people, not to Germany, but he already regretted.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
 **9 November, 1940**  
  
“Seems that Italy’s forces have been halted,” Japan said, looking over towards Germany, away from the telegram. “And are even retreating in some places.”  
  
“That’s just like him,” Germany muttered, then said louder, “Damn it!”  
  
Japan looked politely away, frowning out the window, where a torrent of rain splattered against the glass. Germany paced their meeting room, arms crossed and looking increasingly frustrated as he processed these words.  
  
“I can’t afford to go help him,” Germany said, mostly to himself but loud enough that Japan could hear. “I’m supposed to be preparing for Russia and invading him…”   
  
He trailed off with a hiss of anger, knuckles turning white.  
  
Japan said politely, “That would be troublesome.”  
  
Germany grunted, somewhat unintelligently.   
  
“It can’t be helped,” Japan said, calmly trying to soothe the other axis powers’ nerves. “But you must do what you believe would be the most discreet and wise, given the situation you find yourself in.”  
  
“If I don’t do it now, then it will throw all the plans out of balance,” Germany said. And he was never one to disrupt plans—it was imperative that he invaded Russia as soon as possible, or else he might lose that chance. “But I can’t just leave that idiot to humiliate himself and get himself killed.”   
  
“Hm,” Japan said, looking over the telegram again.   
  
“Damn.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- By mid-1940, Mussolini had grown jealous of Hitler's conquests and wanted to prove to his Axis partner that he could lead Italy to similar military successes. His solution was that Italy would invade Greece, which seemed like an easy target.
> 
> \- I have no idea what Mussolini’s personality was like, so enjoy that painfully generic opening scene. I poked around Wiki a bit but didn’t find much, so I just improvised.
> 
> \- Greece had hoped to remain neutral during the war, but obviously that didn’t really work out. October 28 is now a national holiday in Greece, commemorating the Greek prime minister for saying no to Italy’s ultimatum. (It’s called ‘Ohi’ Day, the Greek word for ‘no’.)
> 
> \- While Italy thought that its attack on Greece would be simple and the invasion effortless, Greece presented one of the largest resistances in the WWII era, fighting back and keeping the other army at bay for months on end. It wasn’t until April of 1941, when German reinforcements arrived to Greece, did the nation finally fall.
> 
> \- Even when occupied and divided up by three different axis powers (Italy, Germany, and Bulgaria), Greece did not accept it lying down. The Grecian people resisted powerfully, and did not rest until they were finally liberated.
> 
> \- Of course, disagreements between rebel forces set the stage for the civil war in Greece.


End file.
